"
Slowly Howland raised his revolver.
"Once more, Croisset--will you tell me?"
"_Non_, M'seur--"
A deafening explosion filled the little cabin. From the lobe of Jean's
ear there ran a red trickle of blood. His face had gone deathly pale.
But even as the bullet had stung him within an inch of his brain he had
not flinched.
"Will you tell me, Croisset?"
This time the black pit of the engineer's revolver centered squarely
between the Frenchman's eyes.
"_Non_, M'seur."
The eyes of the two men met over the blue steel. With a cry Howland
slowly lowered his weapon.
"Good God, but you're a brave man, Jean Croisset!" he cried. "I'd sooner
kill a dozen men that I know than you!"
He rose to his feet and went to the door. There was still but little
snow in the air. To the north the horizon was growing black with the
early approach of the northern night. With a nervous laugh he
returned to Jean.
"Deuce take it if I don't feel like apologizing to you," he exclaimed.
"Does your ear hurt?"
"No more than if I had scratched it with a thorn," returned Jean
politely. "You are good with the pistol, M'seur."
"I would not profit by killing you--just now," mused Howland, seating
himself again on the box and resting his chin in the palm of his hand as
he looked across at the other.
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